


Captive in Love

by SerpentClara



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abduction, Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Amnesia, Angst, Betrayal, Bigotry & Prejudice, Brainwashing, Captivity, Coercion, Consent Issues, Dark, Dark Hermione, Death Eaters, Deathly Hallows AU, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Manipulation, Master/Slave, Memory Charms, Obliviation, Slavery, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-05
Updated: 2012-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-30 16:39:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerpentClara/pseuds/SerpentClara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione is kidnapped by a Death Eater. Her memory is erased and she falls to the charms of her cruel captor. But what is free will, when she can't remember why she should hate him or that it's wrong? And when she does remember, it's too late...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captive in Love

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe belongs to J.K. Rowling. No infringement is meant.

The girl's hair hung around her face in a frizzy mess as she stared at him in shock and defiance. She was no longer demanding he tell her why she was in his manor when the last thing she remembered was a jet of red light coming at her soon after she had exited the house of her filthy Muggle parents.

The first time he had truly looked at her, at the Quidditch World Cup, her eyes had been full of the same defiance, and it had given him the insane urge to drag her into the woods by her bushy hair, shove her against a tree and kiss her... among other things.

He had just admitted this to her, resulting in the wide-eyed look she was giving him.

"You should be proud... you should feel honoured to be my choice. Stay with me..."

"I will not work for the Dark side!" she shouted, colour rising in her cheeks.

"Do not be such a dreadful Gryffindor, my girl. You are allowed to choose the easier path for once. And I am not even asking you to join the Dark Lord, nor will I ever."

She shook her head, glaring fiercely at him. "I'll never betray my friends."

"I can place you under the Imperius," he threatened. "But I would strongly prefer that you surrender of your own will, as it is your true self that I desire –"

"No!" she said in a high-pitched tone. Had he been less absorbed in his impending and now inevitable triumph, he would have noticed the conflict in her eyes. The astonishment. The slight hesitation. "Harry and Ron rely on me. I can't  _sneak_ on them like that!"

"Then you leave me no choice. You will be mine, even if I have to – ah – compel your obedience. You shall do as I say," he raised his wand, "after this.  _Obliviate!_ "

He wiped away all memories of her pathetic friends and the worthless Muggles who were her parents. He erased all but her knowledge of magic and the wizarding world. He had no desire to deal with a  _Muggle_  who would gawk at every manifestation of wizardry.

*

Hermione opened her eyes to see a handsome blond wizard in fine black robes standing in front of her.

"Who are you? Who am I? Where are we?" she rattled off questions, disorientated from trying to remember something, anything, but finding herself unable to do so.

"We are in my house. I am your master and you are  _mine_. My servant."

"Servant?" she frowned. "Why am I your servant?"

"Because such is the natural order. It is the way it once was in our world, and the way it was always meant to be. As humans are superior to animals, so wizards are superior to Muggles. Wizards' and witches' rightful places in our society are determined by the purity of their blood. You are of Muggle descent. Your blood makes you naturally inferior to me, to all those of wizard blood."

He stared at her until she gave an uncertain nod, which caused a victorious smile to quirk his lips. His eyes glittered as he looked down at her. "You are to address me as Master."

"Why?" she insisted.

"Because you are beneath me. You were born to Muggle filth –" he pushed her down firmly, forcing her onto her knees, "– and that is the place of your kind."

"But I'm not a Muggle. I can do magic." It was the one thing she remembered. She knew everything about the wizarding world; she knew hundreds of spells and potions. But she knew nothing of who she was or whether she had a family, or even what she had been doing yesterday. Her mind was completely blank when she thought of these things.

"Indeed, and that is why you are not fit for death as is the race that spawned you," he said in his haughty, cruel voice. "You were born to serve me, to be on bended knee before the true wizardkind. You have no past – I erased it and this makes me your rightful master. You have no past, I say; I am your present, and your future is in my service."

He kissed her harshly, demandingly, not letting her breathe. Unsure of what to do, she just let him do it, hesitantly resting her hands on his shoulders.

"When I look into your eyes, I feel truly alive," he said almost affectionately. "I feel young again. Do not deny me this."

Hermione sighed. "I won't," she quietly reassured, "Master."

*

_A month later_

"Master, if – if you don't mind my asking... who was I before – before this? What kind of life did I have?"

"Who you have been is of no importance," he said coolly. "Servants need no past."

She was reminded, again, that he was as cruel as he was charming.

She looked at him for a moment, then nodded silently, her curiosity dying like a timid candle under a downpour.

He didn't like the sadness he saw in the brown eyes he so liked to get lost in. He pulled her close and held her constrictingly tight against him. Trying to soothe her in the only way he knew, he kissed her, and slid a hand under her clothing to make her feel so good she would forget his words.

*

Hermione sat back on the carpet, leaning her shoulder against the velvet of his robes. She rested her head on his knee.

His stroked her hair absentmindedly. She closed her eyes. She felt comfortable and safe.

She glanced up at him a few times, but dropped her gaze quickly, her cheeks burning.

They stayed that way, in peaceful silence, for hours as the room steadily grew darker.

"Master, I'm cold," she said when the sun had set and a chill had fallen over the drawing room.

Silently, he lifted her up onto the couch and she found herself pressed against his cloak. She moved her hand over the soft material curiously. "May I have one like this?"

"What is your preferred colour?"

"Green," she said faintly.

"Yes, it would indeed suit you," he decided.

She thanked him, an inquisitive sparkle in her eyes. "Why... I mean, how did I end up here... with you?"

"Curious still, my sweet Mudblood?" He chuckled. "Very well. I had simply been feeling lonely living by myself in this grand house. I foresaw that you would be... agreeable company."

"Don't you have a family?"

"My wife was killed by Aurors while I was in Azkaban," he said stiffly. "She was sighted with her sister, a known Death Eater. She fought to prevent them capturing Bellatrix. Neither survived."

"I'm sorry," said Hermione, seeing the pain in his eyes. "Do you have children?"

"I  _had_  a son."

"What happened to him?"

"Killed," he said with a mirthless smile, "by the Dark Lord." The words were spoken with no emotion, empty and terrible.

She gasped. "But why?"

"He failed an awfully important mission. When the Dark Lord found him incapable of casting the Killing Curse against the worst enemy of our cause..."

Hermione looked at him with compassion. He had suffered so much... His whole family murdered, spending a year in the frightening place that was Azkaban, not to mention everything that came with serving under the infamous Dark Lord, the same wizard who was directly responsible for the death of his only child, and who was also to blame, indirectly, for his wife's death.

He had genuinely cared about his wife, she could see, and her loss had affected him deeply. Combined with the death of his son, perhaps deeply enough to break something in his mind.

"You remind me of her," he murmured. "She was my consolation, before... before you."

Who was she to deny him happiness? If he found pleasure in her body, who was she to deny him that?

She was his consolation. She couldn't find anything wrong with that. He needed her. She wasn't selfish enough to refuse.

"How can I please you?" she whispered.

*

He Apparated into the drawing room where she was waiting for him like the other times he had left abruptly during the night to answer the call of the Dark Lord.

He was still wearing the cloak and mask of the Death Eaters and there were stains of blood on his robes. He saw her staring. "It isn't mine," he said as though to reassure her.

"Where have you been?" she asked, seeking his eyes behind the mask that haunted the nightmares of so many.

"Having fun at the Dark Lord's command," he replied indifferently.

"Why do you do that?" The words burst out of her mouth before she could stop them. She didn't know whence they came, or why she suddenly felt such anger. "Why do you murder people? It's not right!"

As soon as the words had left her mouth, she wished she could take them back.

Cruelty glittered in his pale eyes. "How naive you are," he said maliciously. "There is no right and wrong, Mudblood. There is only power, but as some – such as yourself – are too  _weak_  to seek it, they are meant to be led by the strong. Such is the order of nature, and those who refuse to accept it deserve death."

She looked pensive for a few moments. "Oh," she said, in some twisted semblance of understanding. "I didn't know."

She was dressed in a simple silk nightdress. He stepped forward to embrace her, regarding her with avid eyes. "Sweet Mudblood..." His tongue twisted the foul word into a term of endearment. "My sweet, oblivious Mudblood."

She shivered, not entirely from cold, in his arms.

*

_Two months later_

"I don't remember anything... Why can't I remember?" she said desolately. "What is wrong with me, Master?"

Some strange emotion flickered in his grey eyes. She thought it looked like guilt or regret.

"Because I erased your memory," he admitted softly.

Her eyes widened in shock. "But why would you do that?"

"Because you would never have accepted this – me – otherwise. You were too preoccupied with what  _others_  thought."

"I think you're wrong, Master," she said. "I can't recall anything specific, but I'm sure I knew you before... and I had some feelings for you in the past. I remember this."

"I wouldn't know. You never told me," he said wryly. "You swore you would never cooperate voluntarily. If what you say is true, you never behaved accordingly."

"Why didn't I? Was I a coward?"

He did not answer.

"Could I really have been such an idiot, Master?" She looked up at him with wide, troubled eyes. "Is that why you made me forget? Because I was so narrow-minded that you thought there was no other way?"

He couldn't stand to see her like this, so forlorn and confused.

He kissed her in silent apology.

And she forgave him.

*

She watched him as he stood by the fireplace, admiring the way his hair gleamed in the light of the flames. She looked forward to feeling his smooth skin against hers again, his strong body pressing her down on satin sheets. It thrilled her when his pale face would flush in pleasure and in an altered voice, he would repeat how pretty she was and how much she pleased him.

Gradually, he had started treating her better, as though he was apologising for the drastic methods he had employed to make her his. He gave her gifts – jewellery, luxurious robes and dresses that other girls could only dream of wearing, she was sure. He even let her wear the gold and precious gemstone jewellery from his family's ancestral vaults.

He hadn't really hurt her, not in the physical sense, except the one time he had used the Cruciatus Curse on her in anger. That day, she had rebelled at the wrong moment, when he had been in a bad mood after a meeting with the Dark Lord. He had held her afterwards, stroking her trembling back as she cried. He had said he hadn't meant to do it but had lost control in his rage. It was an apology in all but name.

With no one else to trust, he confided in her, and she comforted him the best she could. It pained her genuinely to see him despondent, and she did her best to cheer him up.

He told her of how Voldemort took out his anger on his followers. It was to her that he raged against the brutal punishments of his demanding master and the incompetence of his fellow Death Eaters.

He still called her his ' _sweet Mudblood_ ', but she found that she did not mind. She couldn't remember that she ever had.

*

His eyes were drawn to the diamonds sparkling against her skin as she moved around the room.

He enjoyed seeing the Malfoy heirlooms on her. There was simply something magical about how they glinted against her skin in the dim light of the bedchamber, circles of glittering diamond around her slender neck and wrists when he pulled away the cloth covering her body and the necklace and bracelets remained the only things she was wearing.

They added a refinement to her plain looks, and he was reminded of Narcissa. Dearest Narcissa who had been so fiercely devoted to him... but so was this young woman, a fiery, brunette Narcissa.

He told her as much. She smiled timidly at him in response. "Why did you choose me for this, Master? I mean, I look really ordinary... there are loads of girls who are prettier than me."

"I have always found you pleasing to the eyes," he disagreed. "My desire to touch you and to take you as my own had grown ever more powerful over the years."

She blushed. "You really think I'm pretty?"

"Very much so," he assured her.

It did wonders to her self-esteem, to be told she was attractive when all she saw in the mirror were clots of wild hair and common brown eyes. "Thank you, Master."

*

Hermione traced her fingertip over the skull and snake painted in gleaming red on his pale skin. "You told me... you told me there's only power and those too weak to seek it."

"That is exact."

There was confusion in her warm brown eyes. "But then... does that mean... are you weak?" she asked bluntly.

His eyes narrowed into angry slits. He swung back his hand to slap her, but she caught his wrist in a gentle grip.

"I'm sorry, Master. I didn't mean to disrespect you." She found herself feeling remorseful because of her deep-rooted respect for authority. He was legitimate authority, as far as she knew.

"So you do respect me?" he demanded.

"Very much, Master," she said. "It's just... I don't understand. It doesn't make sense."

"Explain."

"You told me that those who aren't strong enough to seek power have to be led by someone stronger. But if you aren't weak," she paused, "then why do you allow yourself to be led? Why do you serve the Dark Lord?"

He looked thoughtful. "I joined him on a quest for power," he said, fleetingly touching his left arm. "The Dark Lord is not an average wizard. No one can compete with his power. He is willing to share some of it with his followers..."

"How can you be sure? I mean, as long as no one has actually tried to compete with him, you can't know if he's all-powerful or not."

"You do not understand. The Dark Lord has taken certain... measures to ensure that he can never be vanquished. He is  _immortal_."

"That doesn't mean you have to follow him. He wants unquestioning obedience... like what you require of me. Is  _this_  power?"

"I have much influence with the Dark Lord," he objected. "He listens to my opinion while making plans. I hold more sway over him than any other Death Eater."

"Do you? From what you've told me, it doesn't sound that way. The Dark Lord doesn't sound like someone who would want to share his power with anyone. And isn't there a way to reverse whatever he did to become immortal? There must be." She hesitated, then added in a wary whisper, "He killed your son. Surely you'd like to avenge him. I know you are strong. Can't you find a way?"

He appeared to consider her words. "Perhaps," he said slowly, "but as I fail to find one at this moment, let us speak of this no more."

She did not insist.

*

He sank tiredly into an armchair, flinging his cloak onto the nearest piece of furniture. Hermione caught it and carried it over to the wardrobe, where she hung it diligently.

"Master, are you all right? Is something wrong?" Her voice was full of concern as she hurried to kneel at his side. Clasping her hands together nervously, she laid them on his knee in an attempt to appease him, but did not dare to go any further.

"The Ministry is getting closer to finding us. They are searching for you."

"Me?" she said in surprise. "Why would they be looking for me?"

"I – break the law – by keeping you here," he admitted. "Your friends want you back."

"My  _friends_? I had friends?"

He frowned. There was a risk that once she found out, she might not want to stay anymore, and even try to escape, and he liked it much better when she was here in some semblance of choice. Yet perhaps it was best that she know the truth, as  _they_  were going to take her back eventually and then she would learn it anyway. He reasoned that honesty was the better path now. Perhaps she wouldn't hold it against him, if she found out from him. And he could present the truth from a more favourable viewpoint...

"Indeed. Close friends you were, I'd heard – you were dangerously under their influence. They repeatedly brought you into peril."

Hermione did not like the sound of this. That wasn't what she would call  _friends_. "Then I'm glad you took me away from them, Master. And thank you for telling me the truth."

His lips quirked in a mocking smile as he played with a strand of her bushy hair. "No doubt they believe that I have killed you, by now, or that I keep you confined in the dungeons of the manor, starved and in chains. I am – er, an  _enemy_ , after all, and their weakness for heroics would not allow them to rest until they rescue you from my  _evil_  clutches."

She smiled at his joke, though it was a smile tinged with sadness. "I doubt they would want me back like this, when I can't even remember who they are."

*

"You are worried, Master," she said matter-of-factly.

He nodded. "I know they will locate us soon. Hermione – your name is Hermione – I apologise that I ever hurt you," he said softly. "I was not my intention to cause you pain."

She knew he was referring to the day he had used the Cruciatus curse on her, a long time ago, when she had refused to abide by his every word. She guessed that he had to be worried about her wanting to leave.

"I don't hold it against you, Master," she tried to reassure him. "I can't. You have taught me not to. You've trained me to forgive you everything."

The guilt in his eyes drowned out everything else at that moment. The man who committed murder without a flicker of remorse found a semblance of conscience awakened by this unconditional acceptance of this girl who didn't know right from wrong. When he had cast the Memory Charm, he had ended up taking away more than her memories.

"You do not need to address me that way anymore," he said, willing to forfeit part of his power over her.

Ironically, she turned down the offer and handed it right back to him. "But I  _want_  to, Master."

"Why?" he said, incredulous.

"Because it makes you happy."

When he had wiped away her memory, there had been one complication he had not foreseen.

He could not erase what he did not know was there.

That was how, remembering nothing but the fact that she was a witch, she had found herself attracted to him the first time she had looked up at him in this room. No longer knowing a reason that made the feeling wrong, nor a reason not to act on it, she gave free course to the attraction she had secretly been feeling towards him for some time. And it only increased when she had to rely on him for survival and companionship.

"Do you – do you  _care_  about me, Master?" she asked boldly.

He gave her a piercing glance, and then wished he hadn't. The kindness and compassion in these warm brown eyes – the exact opposite of what he saw every time he looked in a mirror – nearly made him ill. Though whether it was out of shame, disgust or guilt, he did not know. To him, they felt the same: intolerable.

Shame for being so weak because of a Mudblood warred with his regret of any harm he had ever done to her. For a moment, he allowed himself to forget the pride and obligations that came with his name, his blood, and the mark on his left forearm. He threw it all away to give a truthful answer once in his life.

His face remained expressionless except for a single tear that slipped down his cheek. "Yes, Hermione, I do."

*

Soon came the day they both expected and dreaded. The hammering on the door made Hermione jump.

" _Magical Law Enforcement!_ " an amplified voice resonated through the walls. " _Open this door!_ "

Her master's face turned paler than ever. There was a poignant, painful intensity in his eyes as he embraced her almost awkwardly. "It is they ... the Aurors," he said in an emotionless tone. "They are here for you."

In his eyes, in these last minutes as they waited for the Aurors to break through the spells and locks on the front door, Hermione saw a plea for forgiveness and an unspoken apology for everything that had happened during the past months. To show him that she didn't hold it against him, and to ease the pain of their imminent separation, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him. He returned the kiss with passion, hugging her tightly around the waist.

"Ah, Hermione... I am awfully sorry, my dear," he sighed. "Go with them. You'll be happier away from me. You deserve it. Take back the freedom I took from you."

"No, Master," she said in the same steely tone she had used months earlier to affirm that she would never let her friends down. She drew her wand from her robes decisively. "I won't abandon you. I won't let them send you to that horrid prison again."

"You would fight the Aurors for me after what I have done... after the way I have behaved towards you?" he said in amazement. "I have been harsh to you, yet you would fight to defend me?"

"I would and I will, Lucius." It was the first and only time she called him by his name.

She slipped her hand into his. They walked forward side by side, wands at the ready.

Alas, the fight was lost from the start. There was no way they could overcome ten Aurors between the two of them.

"Master, I won't leave you. I love you," Hermione pledged, as a torrent of red light headed towards them.

"Likewise," she heard. And then all went black.

Perhaps, if he hadn't said it, she would have been able to recover someday, to escape his control. But with that single word, he had bound her with something more powerful than any chains, of metal or magic, and even when he was locked in Azkaban and she safely but similarly confined at Hogwarts, she would remain spellbound by him.

*

Hermione opened her eyes. "Where am I?"

The walls were very white and unfamiliar people were crowded around her bed. There was a bespectacled boy whose black hair stuck up in all directions, another, taller boy with red hair and a lot of freckles, and an older, balding man who looked like the freckled boy. A woman was fumbling with potion vials by her bed while another, stern-looking witch with a bun of dark hair looked on, standing next to a tall black man whom Hermione recognised – he had been among the Aurors who had raided the manor. Hermione recoiled from him, her eyes narrowing.

These people were the enemy.

"You are in the hospital wing of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Miss Granger," said the witch whom Hermione figured to be a Healer.

"Where is he?" she demanded. "Where is my master?"

The bespectacled boy's jaw clenched visibly. The others looked on with a horrified bewilderment.

"The bastard is in Azkaban," the boy answered fiercely. "He can't hurt you anymore, Hermione."

 _Hurt me?_  Hermione's eyes filled with confusion.  _What does he mean by hurt me? How has he ever hurt me?_  She frowned as she thought of the time he had cast the pain curse on her.  _I deserved it. I was stupid to defy him when he was in a bad mood._

"You must tell us what happened, Miss Granger," said the strict-looking woman. "You need to tell us everything."

"Why should I tell you?" said Hermione, unimpressed. "I don't even know you – any of you –"

The red-haired boy gave a strangled gasp while the black-haired boy's eyes flashed behind their spectacles.

"A Memory Charm," the dark-skinned man diagnosed.

"You're an Auror, aren't you?" said Hermione, and all were taken aback by the anger in her voice.

"Kingsley, isn't there anything we can do?" said the stern-faced witch, sounding desperate.

"I may be able to break it. I was taught a technique ... It may work or it may break her mind irreversibly, Minerva."

Hermione recognised the name, remembering her master mentioning the woman. "You're the Headmistress of Hogwarts," she stated. The others gave her pitying glances, but the elderly witch nodded, her beady eyes glistening.

"Yes, Miss Granger. I am Minerva McGonagall, Transfiguration teacher and Headmistress," she said, sounding as though she was trying to keep her voice steady. "To my right is Poppy Pomfrey, the Hogwarts mediwitch, Kingsley Shacklebolt, who, as you know, is an Auror for the Ministry, Arthur Weasley –"

"I've heard of you," interrupted Hermione, eyeing the red-haired man. "You've got no money and are obsessed with everything Muggle.  _That_  Arthur Weasley?"

The man's face flushed a deep red that clashed terribly with what remained of his hair.

"Definitely a Memory Charm," confirmed Headmistress McGonagall.

"I was aware of it," she snapped to the surprise of the boys crowded around her bed. Her  _friends_? "I don't suppose you've found a way to undo it that  _doesn't_  risk making me insane?"

"Albus would have been able to break the charm," said McGonagall, her voice trembling. "I saw him do it during the first war. Albus Dumbledore was the deceased Headmaster of Hogwarts, Miss Granger, and a very powerful Legilimens," she clarified kindly, believing that Hermione remembered nothing at all.

The boys gave her pitying looks again, and she said irritably, "I'm well aware of who Dumbledore was, thank you."

"Professor, we can't let her stay like this. She isn't herself. We have to do something," the messy-haired boy insisted, the redhead nodding vigorously next to him.

They hadn't answered her question. "Is there no other way?" Hermione demanded.

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger. There isn't." McGonagall seemed utterly defeated. "Given the risks... It is your choice, and yours alone, whether to proceed."

The risks. Losing her mind.  _Insanity_. The word brought to mind the chilling stories Lucius had told her about Bellatrix Lestrange.

But was  _this_  sanity? Not knowing who she was; knowing nothing about herself except what others told her.  _Not knowing_. It was like a mental torture, a constant restlessness, an itch in her mind that never went away. Lucius had distracted her from it, made it bearable, but now he was far away and she would have to fight this constant battle alone. She didn't think she could bear it.

Without her past and without him, she had nothing left. Nothing to live for. Nothing to lose.

"Do it," she said firmly.

They put her under the Body-Bind Curse. The Auror then cast a spell called " _Legilimens_ " and carefully broke through the Memory Charm. When the unfamiliar images of her past flooded her mind all at once, Hermione lost consciousness.

When she woke again, she burst into tears.

She didn't know what to think anymore. Her parents had probably worried themselves to heart attacks by now; she had caused her friends such grief... but thoughts of the one she used to call Master – still did, in her mind – would not leave her. With time, with habit, she had grown to love him.

She loved him, the man who had enslaved her and kept her as his captive. She still felt that she belonged to him.

Everything he had told her, everything she had taken for the truth turned out to be nothing but the goals of a group of fanatical murderers who wanted to take over the wizarding world. People who were naturally her enemies and who had triumphed over her by making her their target – and she had cooperated and accepted it. She had  _believed_  their ideology. She had learned to accept it as fact.

She was a Muggle-born and therefore pure-blood wizards had the right to command her, because this world was theirs, had always been theirs, and she was but a newcomer to it, a guest. Guests in a home didn't have the same rights and liberties as the owners; it was only logical. She had understood this so well that it was difficult to rid her mind of that understanding, that paradigm.

It was just as difficult to stop thinking of him as her master.

The memories of her forgotten past felt foreign to her. She had lived without them for months and as much as it confused her, as much as it pained her to admit it, she had been  _happy_.

"I bet you're going to study like mad to catch up for the NEWTs," said the red-haired boy – Ron, she reminded herself. Trying to distract her, probably. Bless him. "You can borrow our notes. We're going to help you and everything will be like before –"

"I'm not the girl you knew," she cut in. "I'll never again be who I once was."

The boys exchanged an angry look. "No, I don't suppose you will," said Harry. "What did that – that  _Death Eater_  do to you, Hermione? Oh, when I get my hands on him..."

*

She snuck out of the Gryffindor common room after curfew, concealing herself with the Disillusionment Charm he had taught her along with other advanced magic. He had known of her need to learn new things and he had indulged her, teaching her all sorts of magic. She had impressed him by excelling at the Dark Arts just like at every other branch of magic.

She was still top of her class. Academically, only one thing had changed: Harry could no longer beat her in Defence Against the Dark Arts. She was now the best in all her classes. The Defence professor sometimes called on her to explain and demonstrate, not defence, but the Dark Arts themselves, and their weaknesses.

She had learned two of the Unforgivables, practicing on magically enlarged spiders like the ones Professor Moody had used in fourth year. The only Dark spell she had never been able to cast successfully was the Cruciatus Curse. Her repeated failure had sent her into tears at the thought of disappointing Lucius, until he had explained that he had never expected her to succeed, that it was not in her nature to truly wish suffering upon another and that if this ever were to change, she wouldn't be the witch he knew and desired.

He had lavished her with attention; when he had been at the manor, he had always insisted that she be in the same room as him. He had never ignored her.

It had been a week since she was brought to Hogwarts, and she had been doing this every night. Once the other girls were asleep, she would creep out of her dormitory and to the deserted, closed library. She would unlock the door with a spell he had taught her and spend the night there, slinking around the shelves with a lamp in her hand. She even slept there, on a conjured blanket on the floor, concealed between two floor-to-ceiling rows of books.

There wasn't enough time during the day, with classes and homework to do, and she didn't want to risk anyone seeing what she was researching. She couldn't risk them suspecting. She wished she hadn't given up the Time Turner after third year.

She had distanced herself from her friends; she stayed silent in class and barely spoke to anyone. It was as though she didn't know them anymore, as though they were complete strangers. They knew nothing about what she had experienced, and they could never understand.

The stacks of books on the floor around her were on the subjects of magical warding and its deficiencies, the history of wizarding prisons, ancient wizarding laws, the guards of Azkaban, and everything there was to Portkeys and how to make them. She had a scroll and a quill to take note of anything that could help her in her quest.

Without realising it, she sat on her knees on the floor. She found the position comforting in its familiarity.

She almost expected to feel his hand stroking her hair, like he had often done while she knelt on a soft rug by his reclining place. A pair of tears rolled down her cheeks. It was so  _wrong_ , but Merlin, how she missed him...

With renewed determination, Hermione wiped her eyes and plunged into her research.

*

Two weeks later and a Portkey hidden in her robes, a shivering Hermione walked past the stone gates of Azkaban.

While visitors weren't normally allowed into the fortress, she had read about an ancient and obscure wizarding law that entitled the victim of a crime to visit the offender in prison in order to seek 'closure'. Of course not  _this_  sort, but no one knew of her true intentions.

She had slipped out of Hogwarts on a Hogsmeade weekend without telling anyone where she was going. No one knew she was here except the Aurors currently on watch, and by the time they would realise what she was doing, it would be too late.

She was aware that from today on, she would be an outlaw in the wizarding world. Part of her (the Hermione Granger she had been before the  _Obliviate_ ) wanted to cringe, but she kept going, telling herself it was worth it. It was all right, because  _he_  wouldn't mind. How long had it been since he had been declared an outlaw by the Ministry?

She approached the cell where she could see him staring into space with absolutely no expression on his face.

"Hello," she said shakily.

He turned at the sound of her hushed voice, and there was a flicker of astonishment in his grey eyes as he caught sight of her standing just outside the bars.

"Quickly," she said, holding up the quill she had enchanted. "I've got a Portkey."

The disbelief in his eyes gave way to triumph. He was on his feet in a split-second. "Give me your wand," he ordered.

Hermione hesitated, glancing down the corridor.

" _Your wand, I say!_ "

Flinching a little, she wordlessly pushed it through the bars and into his pale hand.

"Good," he said, unlocking the cell from the inside with a simple " _Alohomora_ ". "We cannot allow the guards to remember your presence here," he explained, steering her through the narrow corridor that led to the hall where the two Aurors were waiting for her.

The Aurors recoiled at the sight of a prisoner with a wand in hand. They weren't fast enough to act.

He raised the wand. Hermione shuddered in foreboding, assaulted by the memory of a wand of gleaming black wood being aimed at her and the same incantation being spoken...

" _Obliviate!_ " he said, and the Aurors' eyes misted up.

Only then did he grasp her arm with one hand and the Portkey with the other. In a whirl of air and magic, they disappeared from the island of Azkaban.

*

The Portkey deposited them in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor.

Hermione felt a flood of memories assail her, triggered by the familiar surroundings. She dropped her gaze to the floor. "I..." she started, suddenly feeling very insecure.

"You did well, my dear," he drawled. "You did well and I thank you. I had not expected you to remain loyal to me after regaining your memories."

Hermione's eyes filled with tears. "I didn't want to... I should hate you... but I can't. I don't know why I did it, but it was unbearable for me to think of you in that place. I couldn't stand it."

He kissed her then, raising a caressing hand to her face. She wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him desperately.

He disentangled himself from her. "I appreciate what you did," he said, "but it is imperative that you return to Hogwarts before your absence is noticed."

"I would rather stay. You asked me once to stay with you of my free will. I wasn't ready, but now I am. It's my choice, my decision to interrupt my Hogwarts education. If you continue teaching me magic, I've no doubt I'll do well on the NEWTs. I don't need to continue attending school."

"I am aware of all this, my dear. But you must do as I say."

"You're sending me away?" she said tearfully.

"Only for some time," he reassured.

Her face clearly asked why.

"I have a plan," he answered her unspoken question, "and I have you to thank for it."

She wanted to erase the haunted look from his eyes, to chase away Azkaban's lingering chill with the warmth of her body.

"Can I at least stay for a few hours?" she begged. "Let me take care of you. You need me now more than ever, and I need you too. I've missed you so much..."

He closed his eyes and allowed her to embrace him again. As she held him close, she gazed at the shadows in his face, the dark tension, the grim resolve in the set of his mouth. Something had changed within him, for better or for worse.

It didn't matter. She had loved him at his worst.

"It really is time for you to leave, Hermione," he said some hours later.

"How long will I have to stay away from you?"

"I do not know for certain how long it will take, but when it is time, you shall know... as will our entire world."

"How long  _what_  will take? What are you going to do?"

"Something great," he said cryptically. "Trust your master, Hermione. You will know."

The smile he gave her was full of malicious anticipation. Whatever he was planning, it was big and it was nothing good.

"You will know," he repeated, and she believed him. "Find me when the time comes and you shall be mine for eternity, with no one to stand between us."

"As you wish," she said dutifully. The smile on his face chilled her, but she still found herself asking, "Why won't you tell me?"

His expression never changed. "Do not question me. You will know in due time."

"All right," she sighed. "Just... I beg you to be careful."

"I shall. I shall be exceedingly prudent." There was a strange gleam in his cold eyes. He handed her wand back to her and pushed her into the roaring green flames. "You must go now, Hermione."

*

Months passed. Seventh year ended, the NEWTs came and went, and still Hermione heard nothing from the man for whom she had risked her freedom by attempting the impossible, and succeeding.

Just when the Order was giving up hope of finding the last Horcruxes ("They could be anywhere, really – how are we supposed to know where to look?"), Harry began receiving anonymous tips about what objects the Horcruxes were and where each was hidden.

No one was ready to trust the directions. "It's a trap," was the unequivocal sentiment of Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and everyone else who knew about Harry's secret mission.

But, stubbornly, Harry picked one of the locations on the scrap of parchment which had been brought by an unfamiliar owl and announced his decision to go there to test it. "It's our only chance," he said to justify his actions. "We'll never know if it's a trap or not. There's only one thing to do and it's to try."

"Harry, you can't seriously be thinking –" started Hermione.

But just like with many other dangerous things Harry had done, no one could dissuade him once his mind was set. Not even Ginny, though she tried hard.

Hermione was sure he would never come back.

*

Harry did come back. "It was true," he said excitedly, rushing through the door into Grimmauld Place and straight into a tearful Ginny's arms. "It wasn't a trap! The Horcrux was there. Took me a while to crack the thing, but I finally managed to blast it to pieces with an  _Avada_  of all things. Whoever sent these notes, they're helping us so much..."

Following the directions in the anonymous messages, Harry tracked down the remaining Horcruxes one by one.

The Order spent entire meetings trying to understand.

"Maybe it's a Death Eater who is secretly helping us?"

"It must be a high-ranking Death Eater, to know about the Horcruxes."

But that was where the clues came to a dead end. They were nowhere near piercing the mystery of their secret ally's identity.

Hermione had her doubts.

It had to be someone who knew the gist of the prophecy, that only Harry could destroy Voldemort, and who had something to gain from Voldemort's defeat. Whoever was behind this, it was extremely resourceful of them to use someone else – Harry – to do all the dangerous work, to get rid of Voldemort for them, leaving them to reap the fruit of victory without having to make the effort or take the risks. It was a scheme of a cleverness that Hermione had to admire.

 _I wonder_ , she thought, and words echoed in her head:  _I have a plan, and I have you to thank for it._

She still hadn't figured out what he had been talking about, but she suspected this was part of it. It was this inkling that stopped her from sharing her suspicions with the Order of the Phoenix. For once, Hermione did not rush to show off her knowledge.

The morning after the sixth Horcrux had been destroyed, the owl brought Harry another note. There was an address on it and it was preceded by the words ' _Lord Voldemort's headquarters_ '.

It was a cold, stormy night when Harry went after Voldemort, leaving his friends at the Order headquarters, obstinate in his refusal to let anyone accompany him. It was his destiny and he alone could do it, he had said to them, and Hermione had been sure she would never see him again.

He surprised them by returning at dawn, his robes torn and spattered with blood, but his expression calm. "It's over," he said simply, hugging Ginny, who had thrown herself at him the moment he had entered the house. "He's dead. Voldemort is dead."

 _No, Harry_ , Hermione wanted to say,  _it's far from over._

*

And that was how, a week later, Harry and Ron stormed into the kitchen of twelve Grimmauld Place at the usual hour that marked the end of the day for those enrolled in Auror training. But today, there was no trace of the carefree mood that had inhabited them since Voldemort's final defeat.

Hermione looked at the horrified yet furious faces of her best friends. "What happened?"

The two young wizards exchanged a look of what she presumed was hesitation.

"Haven't you heard?" said Harry. "There's a new Dark Lord on the rise."

The words caused an ominous silence to fall over the room, even though they were spoken without a trace of fear. Harry had never really feared Voldemort, so there wasn't much that could scare him. He looked more angry than anything else at the moment.

It was Ron who continued, and though his ears were red – a sign of indignation – his voice did carry traces of apprehension. "They found the Minister's body this morning and there was a message written in blood pinned to it." Ron sounded disgusted. "It said, ' _This is no end. Lord Voldemort's legacy shall endure_ '," he cited, loathing dripping from every word. He had finally learned to pronounce the feared wizard's name, but only after said wizard was dead and his ashes scattered by the wind. But it was not over, no, that was right – it wasn't, because most of the Death Eaters were still at large.

Hermione's eyebrows knit together like whenever she was trying to figure out the solution to a problem.  _Which Death Eater would dare to use Voldemort's name?_ "Do you have any idea of who it is?" she enquired, cursing herself for the trepidation she heard in her own voice.

"That's the problem," said Ron darkly. When he showed no intention of continuing, Harry took over the conversation.

"We do," said the black-haired youth who, having defeated Voldemort for the final time at the age of seventeen, was in the process of fulfilling his dream of becoming an Auror along with Ron. "We have a pretty good idea of who it is. There was a sign in the sky above the scene of the crime... but it wasn't the Dark Mark."

Harry said no more, trading an unreadable glance with Ron again. They were thinking she was going to faint or something, she realised suddenly.  _Do they really believe me to be so weak?_  she wondered.

_But they don't know I'm not, do they?_

"Well?" said Hermione. "What was it?"

"It was..." Ron's voice was hushed, "the Malfoy family crest."

" _What?_ " she exclaimed in genuine shock.

But she shouldn't have been surprised, she realised. Who else could it be? Who else, among the Death Eaters, would be followed by the others and had enough confidence and intelligence to be their leader?

She recalled his words:  _when it is time, you shall know... as will our entire world._   _Find me when the time comes and you shall be mine for eternity, with no one to stand between us..._

Hermione was no longer listening to Harry and Ron's explanations. She never heard them swear on their lives that they would protect her at all costs. She was too busy taking a hasty yet monumental decision that would mark her down in history...

... as the only Muggle-born ever to have supported the side of Darkness.

_I have a plan, and I have you to thank for it._

She had done this, she realised with a growing sense of guilt, but also wonder. She was the one who had led him to question Voldemort's leadership. And he had taken her words more seriously than she had ever expected.

_So this is where we part ways. I'm sorry._

Next time, they would meet on the battlefield, where the two trainee Aurors would come face to face with their worst nightmare, the Muggle-born Death Eater.

*

In a room lavishly decorated with green tapestries, a bushy-haired witch knelt in front of a wizard in an elegant black cloak. His blond hair gleamed to rival the moon outside the window as it reflected the light of the torches.

The dress Hermione was wearing hugged the modest curves of her body. She kept her head bowed, but she could  _feel_  his gaze on her, could sense his eyes travelling over her and could almost see the hungry glint in them.

The mere idea of his attention caused a familiar stirring in the pit of her stomach, a dull ache that desperately wanted to be quenched and that only he could quench. The need to be acknowledged by him, the desire to please him... It was part of her nature, a part that had always pushed her to work hard to be found worthy, constantly craving the approval of authority.

She raised her eyes, meeting the cold grey of his, metallic, enchanting, enthralling her so she could not look away, and a shiver went through her. The power in his bearing, his expression, his very presence was beyond what it had ever been in the past. One glance at this man left no doubt about his rank. The authority, the command in his eyes was terrifying... and beguiling.

A slender white hand grasped her left wrist. Her sleeve was pulled up and the tip of an ebony wand came to rest against the skin of her inner forearm.

"Hermione Jean Granger, do you accept my mark and vow eternal fealty to me?"

Few would have been able to say no. Hermione did not even think of it as she knelt freely, willingly before the new Dark Lord, her knowledge of the past unimpaired by any spell.

She let his power conquer her completely as she spoke. "Yes, I do... Master."


End file.
